


The Toll of Imagination

by EtaeWrites



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, set after ep6 of the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtaeWrites/pseuds/EtaeWrites
Summary: Nightmares are things only humans have.Or so Crowley thought – what he hadn't suspected though, was the fact that having an imagination played a very big role in exactly that, and not whether you were angel or demon or mere mortal.





	The Toll of Imagination

It felt like he had been through this before. The pain, the desperation, the fear. But he couldn't place it, couldn't conjure up why this felt so familiar despite how terrifying it was.

Flames were licking up all around him, destroying, obliterating, _consuming_ one of his favourite places, though he'd never say out loud that Aziraphale's bookshop was exactly that. It had felt ridiculously like home whenever he was there, the weirdly pleasant smell of old parchment mingled with tea and hot cocoa and dust and something akin to feathers. It was what Aziraphale smelled like, even when they weren't in the bookshop. And now it was a flaming inferno, the precious books the angel loved so much slowly turning into nothing but charcoal and ashes, and Crowley was unable to do anything about it.

He had yelled for Aziraphale, a first spark of fear taking hold in his chest as he had seen the place burning upon arriving in Soho. And the spark had grown into a proper fire, not much unlike that which was raging in the shop at the very moment. What had been mere anxiety was becoming fully fledged panic when the angel didn't answer his calls, nor could he feel his presence anywhere around.

Aziraphale was gone. There was no trace of his best friend anywhere and his shop was burning up, the flames by now crawling close enough to Crowley to singe his clothes.  
He had lost him. His personal ray of sunshine, his spark of hope in dark moments, and it hurt, oh it hurt so much. Now he'd never see that adorable, goofy smile again whenever he received a new book or when they were out to dine at the Ritz. No more drunk philosophical discussions, no more feeding the ducks in the park, no more helping each other out of trouble and going for crepes afterwards, _nothing_.

He had wanted to tell him things, to say how he felt, he really did – and now it was too late and he'd never have the chance to do so.

An angry and desperate and pained sob escaped him, and Crowley felt himself Falling all over again.

***

It was an aimless tumble, down and down and down with no end in sight. The flames around him had become a mere speck of light above him what felt like ages ago, and had eventually vanished, leaving him in cold nothingness.

Crowley wasn't able to tell how long the Fall took. Longer than his first one, for sure, but it was just as painful. He had lost everything, a second time now, and he had no idea that he could Fall even lower than Hell, yet it certainly felt like it. It had to be.

He couldn't even spread his wings in an attempt to cushion the plummet downwards, to soften the tug of air on his limbs, as if they had been torn out in a final act of malice against him.

***

Eventually, something knocked all remaining air out of him with the force of a sledge hammer. He wheezed and coughed and winced in agony, curling up on himself on the cool floor he had ended up on. He stayed like that for a long time, until the pain finally subsided enough so he was able to breathe again. Very slowly he scrambled to his knees, trying to take in his surroundings.

The scenery he had seen while falling hadn't changed, with the exception that now there was solid ground beneath his feet. He couldn't see anything in the ink black darkness all around him. Crowley was stuck in a void, empty and vacuous and lacking of even the slightest bit of warmth and comfort – it felt like standing naked in a snowstorm after the flames in the bookshop.

He took one cautious step forward, unsure if he'd tread on solid ground or take another plunge. He certainly didn't trust the physics of whatever this place was. Then he saw it – a speck of colour in the ether, or more like, a speck of bright, shining, almost blinding white, as tiny as it was in the distance, like the very first lonely star on the firmament.

A small shimmer of hope clawed it's way up his chest and Crowley started walking to the one spot in the featureless surroundings that gave him something like orientation. The closer he got, the more details he was able to make out: the white speck wasn't just a bit of light, it was a person. White wings sprouted from their back, obscuring their shape except for the head full of messy blonde curls that framed it like a halo. The shimmer of hope grew into a spark and before he knew it, Crowley sprinted over to the angel – _his_ angel. He'd recognize him anywhere.

“Aziraphale!”, he yelled, so incredibly relieved that he was alive and in one piece, he nearly started crying, “Oh God- Sat- ugh _whoever_ , I thought you were _dead_!”

The angel turned abruptly and Crowley skidded to a halt in front of him. Blue eyes greeted him, but there was no warmth in them, no hint of the usual boundless compassion and love that always seemed to radiate from Aziraphale. Instead, two pins of ice were fixed on him, full of disregard and, when the angel seemed to notice _what_ was standing in front of him, disgust and hatred. The angel took up a defensive stance.

“What do you want, demon?”, Aziraphale asked, and his tone was as cold as the expression on his face. Crowley smiled desperately at him. This was still Aziraphale, he knew it in his bones. He _had_ to be. But something was wrong, so very, very wrong.

“Aziraphale? Angel? I'm .. I'm Crowley, don't you remember? We're … We're friends?”

“I'm not friends with any _demons_ ”, the way he spat the words made Crowley flinch back. It felt like a slap in the face.

“Exactly”, said another, haughty voice that made Crowley instinctively clench his fists. Another feeling of deja-vú was surfacing, bringing back a memory of something that had happened not too long ago and of the pure anger he had felt while it happened. He hated that voice, he hated the purple eyes and the snobbish exterior of Gabriel with every fibre of his being, ever since he had seen first hand how the Archangel treated Aziraphale. How he had denied him any hint of dignity even though he was to be executed.

And you'd think Heaven was polite. _Pah_.

“What did you do to him?”, Crowley hissed, his gaze now fixed on Gabriel, “What did you do to him, you bastard!?”

“We fixed what was wrong”, replied the Archangel calmly, with absolute conviction. It made Crowley yell in anger and leap towards him with the intention of strangling him with his own hands, only to be stopped by a blade pointing at his throat.

“I'd recommend you go back to Hell”, said Aziraphale, dangerously calm, “Or I won't have mercy on you for trespassing”

He looked at the angel, so firm in his position of defending his superior from imminent danger, it made Crowley want to cry and tear his hair out in fistfuls. This wasn't right. Not at all.

“Aziraphale that's not you”, he tried, holding his voice together with great effort, “You're no bloody bodyguard to this prick – you should be on earth, appreciating all the small things, the books, the music, the ducks in the park, your favourite sushi ...” He trailed off when the blade started to press more firmly against his skin. He swallowed heavily, staring at the angel that was supposed to be his best friend. At the angel he loved.

“Leave”, Aziraphale repeated, “This is my final warning”

Crowley stumbled back slowly and fell to his knees, his legs unable to support him any longer. The uncaring look in those blue eyes that were staring at him made a cry escape his throat, full of terror and disbelief and utter pain.

***

Aziraphale jumped at the sudden scream, dropping his mug on the tiles, subsequently shattering it and spreading hot cocoa all over floor and his feet. He would have cursed, hadn't it been for the fact that it had been Crowley screaming, and that he had never heard him so in panic and pain. It sounded like he was in absolute agony and sent a wave of pure fear through Aziraphale's body.

“Crowley!”, he called out and rushed into the other room, fully prepared to find his flat infiltrated by demons because they had found out about their charade – instead, he saw Crowley curled up on the sofa he had been napping on, his slender frame shaking with audible sobs.

“Oh lord … Crowley, dear, what's wrong?”, he asked and hurried over to the trembling demon, sitting down next to him. When there was no reaction, he reached out carefully, saying his name again. Crowley looked up at the touch, attempting to focus on Aziraphale's face through the haze of tears.

“... A-Aziraphale?”, he whispered, almost whined. His voice was laced with so much fear, outright terror even, it made the angel's heart break. He couldn't bear seeing Crowley like this.

“I'm here, love, I'm here”, he cooed and gently pulled him in a hug. It seemed to take Crowley a few seconds to realize what was going on, until he pulled himself close to Aziraphale, holding onto him like he might discorporate any second and only the physical contact would keep him in place.

“I … I thought … But they ...”, he stammered and Aziraphale ran a hand over his back, holding him tight. He was still shaking like a leaf in the middle of a storm.

“Shh, shh, it's okay, I'm here. I'm here”

Another sob escaped Crowley and it took him a long time until he spoke again. “... They brainwashed you … you … didn't even recognize me”, he whispered.

“Who did?”, Aziraphale wondered, confused about what Crowley was talking about.

“Gabriel”, was the demon's answer and he virtually spat that name like it was the worst curse in the whole universe, “You didn't remember anything about all the things here on earth, didn't remember _me_ … Would've killed me upon that asshole's command ...” Crowley trailed off again, caught in another crying fit upon recalling what had happened, like saying those words was pushing a finger into an open wound.

“Oh. Oh my dear, I would never– How could I ever forget or hurt something as precious as you?”

Aziraphale kept holding him close, gently rocking back and forth and with his cheek resting on Crowley's head in an attempt to give him as much contact and reassurance as possible. He had never seen him so pained, so broken before and he was still trying to figure out what was even going on.

Crowley had been sleeping before this happened, right? He did that sometimes, especially when they had had some wine and he was too lazy to go back to his own place. More so now that they were around each other almost the whole time.

But such a reaction had never occurred at any other given moment.

Only slowly, very slowly Aziraphale started to get an idea of what had happened. So far he had thought only humans would be susceptible to nightmares, that angels and demons didn't even _dream_ when they dared to sleep. Yet Crowley, as usual, seemed to be the exception. The very unfortunate exception in this case. Probably the events of the nearly avoided Apocalypse had tipped him off the scales.

“It was just a bad dream”, Aziraphale eventually said, hoping his conclusion to the situation was the correct one. “I'm here, and I didn't forget you, and I won't forget you in the future either. We're on our own side now, remember? You said that yourself. They won't interfere with us if they don't have to”

The demon made a movement that might have been a nod if he weren't so tangeld up with Aziraphale.

“Don't leave me”, he mumbled hoarsely against the angel's chest and Aziraphale gently made some room so he could see his face.

“I won't leave you”, he said, cupping Crowley's face with both hands, so he could place the gentlest kiss on the demon's lips. There was another small sob from Crowley, but at least the tension in his body eased up a bit, despite him still clinging to Aziraphale like a man drowning. “If you want, I can even stick around when you sleep from now on. I think I read somewhere that helps against nightmares” And if his mere presence wasn't enough, he'd damn well go and make sure Crowley had good dreams instead.

“Really? You promise?”, Crowley asked desperately, after a few moments of silent consideration. Aziraphale nearly started crying himself at how miserable Crowley sounded and soothingly ran a hand through his hair while pulling him as close as possible again, placing another small kiss on the top of his head.

“I promise”, he said and held him tightly until his breathing finally calmed down, and a long time after that.


End file.
